This is the place 
where mountains quit 
their water. 

Here, the hush was born, 
the sleep of leaves 
on warm sands, 

and wooden boats 
touched ground here once, 
exploring 

the New World's darkness 
the way we probe 
for love. 

Beyond this point 
they found the waters 
shallow; 

beyond this point 
if you desire 
to go deeper, 

you must stalk 
the highland deer, 
and watch 

the path the birds blaze, 
each waterfall 
concealing, 

babbling nonsense, 
laughing, then 
revealing, 

the land impassive, 
and we were dazzled, 
impatient, 

our steps entangled 
in our desire 
to conquer.
 

Copyright 2000, Bob Mustin